


by the ocean's edge (i am afraid, i am afraid)

by OccasionallyCreative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Force-Sensitive Shmi Skywalker, Mother-Son Relationship, Motherhood, Movie: Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 16:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14525130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: "Can you fly?”If I could, I would’ve left Tatooine with Ani long ago, Shmi thought, shifting, uncomfortable in the co-pilot’s seat. Qui-Gon glanced at her, his eyes narrowing in that particular way.She looked away. It was strange. She’d not known him for long. She’d, in all truth, known passing traders longer than she knew Qui-Gon Jinn, yet she knew so quickly the way his eyes crinkled at their edges, and the incline of his brow when he frowned.“Not at all,” she answered finally.Shmi Skywalker isn't left behind on Tatooine. She is reunited with her son Anakin, comes to know the Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn and becomes embroiled in a battle which will decide the galaxy's fate.





	by the ocean's edge (i am afraid, i am afraid)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Stars Wars Big Bang. If I had the time - nay, the writing skills - then this would probably be an epic saga with delicious Anidala angst and slow burn, painful loving working around canon and the sweet 'what-if' that is Qui-Gon and Shmi. Unfortunately, because of my lack of both those things, this is the SparkNotes version. 
> 
> I'm a Bad Fan (trademark) and haven't watched/read any supplementary material apart from "Leia: Princess of Alderaan", so my characterisations of Shmi and Qui-Gon are expansions of what we see in The Phantom Menace. Apologies for any OOC behaviour. This is my first fic with this pairing - how I do love to throw myself in at the deep end.
> 
> Anyway, ENOUGH PRE-EMPTIVE APOLOGIES. 
> 
> Enjoy! (Hopefully.)

PLAYING alone by the ocean’s edge,  
Eager and unafraid,  
You are the child I used to be,  
Playing the games I played.  
  
Now I have only a coward’s heart,  
Finding you all too dear,  
Learning at last that love shall teach  
The fearless how to fear.  
  
You are so little against the sky,  
Laughing and undismayed—  
Oh, little son by the ocean’s edge,  
I am afraid, afraid!

\- **Motherhood** by Medora C. Addison

* * *

Shmi felt small. What little possessions she had were wrapped in a burlap pack, her knuckles clenched white around it. Qui-Gon beside her was quiet as they walked, passing Tatooine’s empty deserts. Their footprints were quickly taken by the desert wind. Mos Espa was far behind, and the twin suns hung low in the air. Sunset was arriving.

_“Jedi! Back again,” spat Watto. His wings fluttered angrily. “You wish to embarrass me more?”_

_Qui-Gon blinked back at him. He seemed faintly amused. His handsome face shifted as he raised an eyebrow. “Your slave has something. The boy won credits in the race.”_

_“Republican credits! I care not for those! Perhaps if the boy had won druggats.” Watto shrugged._

_Qui-Gon was undeterred. “Credits that could purchase parts,” he explained gently. He wore a mask when Watto looked at him, of careful negotiation. Shmi avoided Qui-Gon’s eye._

_Watto’s wings snapped together and fluttered quickly, raising the Toydarian to Qui-Gon’s full height. “What are you suggesting, Jedi?”_

_“Very little,” Qui-Gon replied._

I resent him, _Shmi told the Force._ He took Ani away. _She cleaned down Watto’s counter, silent as the conversation continued._

_“You take me for everything I have! Then you wish to take my slave?” Watto grumbled in the silence. His shop was half-empty, a shell of what it was before the arrival of Qui-Gon and his companions. Watto rolled his shoulders, grimacing. “So what if I were to accept these credits?” he snapped._

_“I get the boy’s mother.”_

Credits always won out in Mos Espa, whatever Watto said. Shmi’s heart had thumped hard in her chest as she ran through her small house, which she’d always felt too big for, bigger still when she’d birthed Anakin there, on the floor of the kitchen, alone in the night except for a repaired med droid. She had fixed the droid with various parts, scavenged from her owners and other dealers. Even as her belly grew bigger, the Force swirling with every kick, she worked each spare hour.

She grabbed trinkets. The tools with which she had made the med droid. Taken apart now, the parts returned before they were missed.

Shmi glanced at Qui-Gon, handsome still in the quick-approaching evening. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face another mask. As there was no negotiation to be had, he was silent. Calm as they crossed the harsh sands. She glanced over her shoulder. Mos Espa’s towers weren’t as imposing as before. They were just part of the landscape.

Only once before had she broached the outskirts of the spaceport. She was a little girl, bored, and had run with her friends through the streets, over the sands. Tosche Station was a glittering thing in a child’s mind, somewhere to escape from Tatooine’s heat and endless chores. Her mother found her before she’d reached the boundary, and scooped her up, scolding her for straying so far.

“There is no need to look back.”

Shmi looked at Qui-Gon. His mask stayed as he smiled. His eyes shone in the dark.

“It does best to look ahead.”

Shmi opened her mouth, trying to reply. But there was nothing to give, so she turned her head, where she saw the sight of the ship.

Even in the dark, it gleamed silver, like an assembly of stars. Shmi steeled herself, holding her pack tighter between her fingers. She felt a hand on her arm.

Qui-Gon had no smile to give, but his eyes were gentle.

“Anakin will be pleased to see you.”

Shmi pulled her pack onto her shoulders. Whatever had compelled the Jedi to return, and walk back through the doorway of Watto’s shop, it meant that Mos Espa, once so throttling, was now behind her.

Qui-Gon’s hand curved over the medium of her back, guiding her closer to the ship. As the ramp opened, Qui-Gon paused. Shmi turned.

“What is it?”

“Get on the ship,” Qui-Gon warned. He moved forward, his hand moving towards his hip. “Now!”

Shmi backed closer to the ramp, her brows furrowing. The Force moved, like a pulse at the back of her head, in the low of her skull. Something—something dark was present. And it was getting closer.

“Threepio.” She beckoned the droid forward. He shuffled forward, arms swinging back and forth in front of him. His wires moulded into the dark, and his eyes glowed gold. “Get inside.”

“But, Mistress Shmi, Master Qui-Gon—”

Shmi glared. “Get inside.”

Her eyes returned to Qui-Gon. He was now a silhouette as he inched forward. The desert plains stretched out before him.

The pulse in her head quickened, almost to the pace of a heartbeat.

Threepio obeyed. His gears whirred and clicked as he hurried up the ship’s ramp. Shmi moved with the wind, inching forward. To be a slave, you had to learn silence. You had to learn survival.

Behind her, the sound of a speeder shrieked, increasingly close. The Dark force writhed with its anger.

Qui-Gon was a short distance ahead of her. Shmi glanced back. A tall hooded figure sat astride the speeder bike, heading straight for the Jedi Master. The Dark surrounded it.

“Qui-Gon, get down!” she yelled, jumping to her left as the speeder rushed towards her.

At the same time, the Jedi Master dropped to his stomach. The speeder bike glided over him, turning in its length to face down the Jedi. Shmi panted hard. Sand threaded against her fingertips, grazing her cheek. Scrambling up, her heart thumping, she ran, ducking behind a rock. The Force sparked against her skin. Her palms felt warm. Closing her eyes, she quelled it.

Breathing shakily, she edged out from behind the rock. She peered out. Red and green lit the desert night. In his naivety, Ani had named them ‘laser swords’. The lightsabers hummed and clashed, the two Force users moving rapidly.

Shmi crept forward, keeping an eye on the fight.

Qui-Gon fought hard, blocking each blow dealt by his opponent. His opponent was more vicious, swiping low before raising his saber in an arc to deliver a blow to Qui-Gon’s head. Shmi moved closer. The anger in the Force user was all-consuming, focused entirely on victory. He was merciless. If he defeated the Jedi, his mercilessness would spread. To Anakin, to anyone else who was on that ship.

The Force user’s foot struck out, hitting Qui-Gon hard in the stomach. Qui-Gon flung back, landing, winded, in the sands. The Force user’s head tilted up. He flicked back his hood. His eyes shone yellow. In the dark, he flashed sharp, beastly teeth. His skin was red. Intricate black markings covered his face.

The light of his lightsaber extinguished. She saw shadows only now; the shadow of the Force-user’s face, Tatooine’s moonlight shining purple on his red skin. The Force user curled his fingers, slowly twisting his wrist. Qui-Gon shadow was caught then, his hands coming to his throat. In the night air, he choked.

In her mind, the pressure was like a knife cutting through meat. She thought of being a girl, watching the vendors in Mos Espa’s market with fascination as they hulled, cut and stained their fingers with blood for credits. The pressure cut deeper. The kitchen, the med droid assembled from parts, flung into her head. Little Ani. Pink and squalling and vulnerable.

Shmi flung out her hand. The Force user flew back, his shadow shrinking, shrinking until it landed, hard, in the dirt. Shmi’s breaths shook. She snatched her hand back, staring at the small shadow. The wind picked up, flapping at the shadow’s robes.

Qui-Gon groaned as he stood.

“Whatever that thing was,” he said, panting softly, “it wanted to get to the Queen.”

The sand crunched underneath his feet as he turned on his heel. Shmi glanced over her shoulder, watching him. He held out his lightsaber to light his path. He looked back at her. His face was half-caught in shadow, only the line of his jaw lit by the green humming glow. She felt, more than saw his gaze on her. He held out his hand.

“That creature won’t be unconscious for long. Come.”

She turned towards him, taking his hand.

* * *

“Mom!” As the door to the quarters slid closed behind her, Ani threw himself against her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Shmi laughed as she bent over, hugging him tightly.

“You were right, Ani,” she said softly, stroking her fingers through his mop of golden hair. “I never doubted.” That lie she whispered softly, for none to hear but him.

Compared to the gold of Tatooine, the lights of the ship were harsh white around them. Anakin looked grubbier than usual, his rags a sore thumb against the sleek lines of the ship.

Beyond the door, she heard muffled conversations. Shmi sank to her knees, grinned wider as she found Anakin’s eyes. So blue and bright. She cupped his cheek and stroked the high of his cheek with her thumb.

“I saw Threepio!” he said suddenly, jerking away from her as he remembered, his mouth breaking into a grin.

Shmi laughed.

“Yes, he’s coming with us – and he’s very much looking forward to getting his covers.” Ani scrunched his nose, wriggling as she kissed his cheek. Her gaze fell on the workstation behind him. Standing, she moved closer, sitting before it. Laying on it was a piece of rope and a half-carved piece of wood. A hydrocutter lay beside it. Shmi stroked her fingers over the pattern in the wood. “This is interesting Ani. A Japor snippet?”

“Something for Padme,” Anakin replied as he scrambled to sit on her lap. “You know, the handmaiden. I found the wood somewhere in the storage hold. It’ll bring her good luck.”

“You think of everything,” Shmi teased. Anakin scrunched his nose again, snatching the half-finished good luck charm from her.

“It’s not funny. It’s going to be a surprise.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll let you work. No more teasing.” Shmi picked him up, setting him in the chair. She dropped into a crouch before him. “Let me know if you need anything, alright? I love you, Ani.”

“Love you too,” he replied, already returned to his work. Shmi stood, opening the doors. She glanced over her shoulder as she left. The doors closed on Ani, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth as he deftly carved into the wood. She let out a heavy breath.

A viewport was to her left. The stars, every system, were stretched out into infinite. Tatooine was a ball of yellow-grey dust hanging among them. Soon enough, it would be another piece of the galaxy’s infinity.

It was no surprise to find Anakin making gifts for the handmaiden, Padme. The Force had created him, and the Force was life itself. She’d known that since she was small. Her mother believed in nothing except hard work. Her father believed in drink and, eventually, nothing at all.

Shmi believed in the Force. She felt the Force. Every traveller, every trader, that passed through had a signature that breathed with it.

Life, itself, was generous. It attached itself to a creature, any creature, with ease. Lovers were generous with their hearts. Traders were generous with their charm. Drunks were generous with their tongue, sharpening it with every drop of liquor.

The cockpit door slid open. Shmi gave a small smile as she saw Qui-Gon enter the corridor. His Force signature was one of peace, one of contentment. As if he knew everything that had happened and was to happen.

“I didn’t yet get the opportunity to thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Shmi said, smiling wider as Qui-Gon laughed.

“Captain Olie says we will soon be heading into hyperspace, so we’ll find ourselves on Coruscant soon.”

“Coruscant?”

“Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard stories. Drunk traders love to talk about the places they have been to. I think it makes them feel superior to us, the ones who have never left.” Shmi hugged herself, watching the stars.

“You do not have to be a great traveller to know… remarkable things.” Qui-Gon’s voice was knowing. Shmi glanced at him, quickly looking away.

“I use it rarely,” she murmured. “It was to protect Anakin. It’s always… Sometimes, when he was young, and wondered… I used it then. I put thoughts into his dreams of a man, who might one day come back to us. Find us. Save us. I never gave him a face but – it gave Ani hope.”

Her eyes were wet. She wiped them quickly, looking back at Qui-Gon. “Will the Jedi be kind to him?”

“I am sure of it.” Again, his hand on her shoulder. In such a short space of time, it had become a familiar presence. “I’ve never encountered someone with Anakin’s potential. The Jedi will give him a place.”

Shmi swallowed. Staring at the stars, she felt even smaller. One life, among thousands.

“I hope so.”

* * *

Could you identify the creature?” Mace Windu was a quiet man, who considered even the smallest of problems before him with equal care. More scholar than healer or fighter, he listened quietly as Qui-Gon told them of the skirmish. To ask the question, was the first time he’d spoken since Qui-Gon’s entrance into the council chamber.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t,” he said. He began to pace, his arms folded across his chest. His robes whispered along the floor. “All I sensed was darkness. A darkness that went beyond the typical desire for killing.”

“More than an assassin, this creature is,” Yoda murmured. He scratched his chin and sighed. “Master Ki-Adi, what say you, hm?”

Ki-Adi-Mundi tilted his head. He narrowed his eyes. “Was this a typical assassin, Qui-Gon?”

“Not at all. He was well trained in the Jedi arts.”

“I sense your belief, Qui-Gon.” Windu frowned while his words hung in the air. Qui-Gon’s gaze shifted towards Obi-Wan. The loyal Padawan stood in the corner of the room, away from the main space of the Jedi Council, with his head bowed.

Windu spoke carefully. “You believe this creature is a Sith.”

“The Sith are extinct!” Ki-Adi exclaimed, looking with widened eyes at Master Yoda.

“Hard to see, the dark side is. But, the brighter the light, darker the shadow is.” Yoda said, his voice turning grave. His eyes closed briefly as he lowered his head, taking a heavy breath. “We must not take your suspicions lightly, Qui-Gon. After the Queen, he was?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

“Then with this Naboo Queen, you must stay. Protect her,” Yoda instructed. He looked over at Windu, whose head was lowered. “Windu?”

“If the Sith have returned… we must work to make sure they cannot bring unrest to the Force. Already I sense it. It is at the edges at present, but if we do not—” Windu raised up his head then. His expression was unchanged, but his gaze was heavy. “We will use all of our resources, Qui-Gon, to unravel this mystery. May the Force be with you.”

It was an instruction to dismissal. Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his beard. Beyond the door to the Council, there sat a boy made from the Force, with a mother strong with its power.

He had promised them both he would give Anakin a better life. One they deserved.

“Master Qui-Gon?” Yoda’s tone was lightened. “More to say, have you? Ah… I know it. Your feelings reveal it. The boy. You brought him here without consent, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon gave a single, short nod. “Master Yoda, the boy is unusually strong in the Force.”

“All young Padawans are strong, Qui-Gon. Uncontrolled, their power is. That is why we teach.” Yoda’s eyes twinkled, and for a moment, Qui-Gon felt like the Padawan again.

“I understand, my Master. But this boy – his power… it’s unprecedented. I ask that he be given a place in the temple.”

Mace Windu raised an eyebrow. “Without testing? Without preparation?”

“If you saw him, you would know the boy needs no such formalities.”

Around him, a breath of curiosity fed through the Council. Yoda sighed, smiling as he looked up at Qui-Gon.

“Very well Qui-Gon. We shall see him.”

Qui-Gon nodded. Turning his head, he met Obi-Wan’s raised gaze.

“Obi-Wan, please, fetch the boy from his mother.”

“He has his mother?” Ki-Adi said, his wariness softly spoken.

“He understands what must be done if he is given a place at the Academy, Master Mundi.”

The doors opened and closed, reopening moments later with Obi-Wan leading the way. Anakin, small and trembling away from the deserts of Tatooine, looked with innocence at the council. Members of the Jedi that he would one day be. Qui-Gon’s heart swelled a little, just as it had swelled when Obi-Wan had presented him with his newly made lightsaber. Just beyond the closing doors, he found Shmi’s eyes. Blue as her son’s, filled with concern, her hands tightly interlinked as she waited to hear her son’s fate.

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, beckoning Anakin forward. Anakin avoided the eyes of the Council as he walked quickly forward.

“This,” Qui-Gon said, “is Anakin Skywalker.”

“Anakin Skywalker? A name not easily forgot,” Yoda said, staring down at the child. Anakin kicked at the carpet, scuffing the toe of his ragged shoe.

“Yes, Master. My mother says our names fulfil our destinies.”

Windu leaned forward. His fingertips pressed together, and his mouth formed a thin line, thoughtful. Mindful. “You think of your mother?”

“She’s just outside,” Anakin said quickly as if exasperated by such a question. Windu was unchanged in response. For a while, the sounds of Coruscant’s traffic filled the air. Anakin spoke again, his words earnest and eager. “I understand though, what has to be done. To be a Jedi. I’ll have to leave her. And that’s okay! I can do it.”

A silence fell over the council. In the Force, Qui-Gon felt their attitude change. Cold, where once it was warm and inviting, curious enough to open the circle.

He swallowed.

“Masters—”

“Anakin Skywalker, wait outside you must,” Yoda said firmly. “May the Force be with you.”

“Thank you,” Anakin mumbled, bowing quickly. “May the Force be with you.”

Obi-Wan took the boy’s hand, gently steering him out of the chamber. The sun peeked out from behind Coruscant’s skyscrapers, its towers, and landed in long shadows over the faces of the Jedi Council.

Qui-Gon folded his arms over his chest once more, sliding his fingers against his forearms.

Ki-Adi broke the silence.

“How did you find this boy?”

“On Tatooine. Quite by chance.” Qui-Gon sucked in a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, sincere. “It was the will of the Force, I believe, that led me to him.”

Ki-Adi’s eyes slid towards Yoda. Yoda cleared his throat. He adjusted his grip on his cane, straightening his shoulders.

“We cannot take him.”

A lick of despair touched Qui-Gon’s heart. He breathed hard, closing his eyes, willing the fear away. He could not allow despair, nor fear, to settle.

“He is the Chosen One, my Master,” he insisted. “He will bring balance to the Force. I sense it in him.”

“Sense it, or hope it?” Ki-Adi tilted his head. His eyes were sad. “Master Yoda is right, Qui-Gon. The boy is too old. He has already grown attachments that cannot be broken. It would be wrong to remove him from his mother.”

The despair rolled through him again, pulsating in his signature. Qui-Gon sighed, breathing through his nose. Before him, Yoda’s expression softened, sadness in his ancient eyes.

“Though a Master, still much to learn have you. The boy has a deep fear in him. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Yoda shook his head, jumping from his seat and walking towards Qui-Gon. His manner was steady. The men watched one another for a silent moment in a silent conversation.

Qui-Gon knew that his old Master sensed the growing despair within him.

Master Yoda knew what the despair was. It was not a fear; it was the despair felt by a departing brother.

Yoda placed both hands on the top of his cane, making a low sound at the back of his throat.

“Master Jinn, the Jedi Council is resolved. We cannot give Anakin Skywalker a place.”

“Then you know I too, am resolved.” Qui-Gon’s voice was soft. He dropped to one knee before his old Master and bowed his head. Yoda’s hand touched the crest of his head. His Master’s sadness flowed from him, accompanied by a single word heard only between the two of them: _farewell_.

“May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon Jinn. Sad to lose you, we will be.”

Rising to his feet, Qui-Gon bowed to the rest of the council. He turned to leave.

“Master?”

He paused, turning his head. Obi-Wan approached, his hands folded in front of him. He bowed his head, leaning closer to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon gave a small, gentle smile, laying a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His braid hung from behind his ear.

“You have been a good padawan to me over the years, Obi-Wan. I am sure you will make Master Yoda as proud as you have made me.”

“Master Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan tried again, his tone quivering with one last attempt at reason. Qui-Gon shook his head, raising his head.

“I’m resolved. The Council and I have always had our differences. This you know.” Qui-Gon widened his smile for the benefit of his padawan. “I will never be idle, and I will always carry the ways of the Jedi within my heart. You’ve no need to worry about that. There will always be people to save, and a galaxy to protect. But I cannot do it here.”

Qui-Gon stepped forward as the doors opened, away from his Padawan. Away from the council.

* * *

Beyond the threshold, Shmi hugged Anakin tight. Tears were in his eyes, falling down his cheeks. Qui-Gon came to a stop before them. He lowered into a crouch. Behind him, the doors slid closed.

“Anakin…”

“Master Qui-Gon…” Fat tears brimmed in the boy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. The two of you can stay here, on Coruscant, if you want. Or you can return to Tatooine. I know you were unhappy to leave there, Anakin.”

Shmi’s eyes hardened. Slowly, she rubbed circles into the high of Anakin’s back.

“We will stay. Thank you.”

His smile sagged as he watched them for a moment, Shmi kissing Anakin’s cheek as her eyes fell on the closed door of the Jedi. No longer would he, Qui-Gon Jinn, be a Knight, nor a Master. No healer, no scholar. Simply a soul who wandered, like the two souls before him.

“May the Force be with you, Anakin and Shmi Skywalker.”

Shmi reached forward then, clasping his open hand. A smile tipped at the corners of her mouth.

“May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Qui-Gon swallowed, covering Shmi’s hand with his own. His future was unknown now.

“I will not leave you without help,” he said. Determination threaded into his heart and filled his voice. “And I will find whatever creature it was that attacked us.”

Yes, he had a new life to seek.

First, however, he had to keep a promise.

* * *

Shmi had always ever seen shades of red. She’d witnessed it in the flash of a smuggler’s clothes, or in the cut on the skin between arguing pirates. Beyond that, it was blue sky and the white of her planet’s twin suns.

The red of the Queen of Naboo’s apartments was opulence. Anakin stared wide-eyed and amazed at the luxury around him. Amusement touched Shmi’s face. She was half-inclined to stare herself.

The Queen of Naboo was almost impossible in her extravagance. Her face was powdered white with red lining her upper lip. Crystals and stones that twinkled every hue framed her face and a crown of pearls sat atop her head, covering her forehead. Her robes were pale green. Her eyes were dark, staring out from the luxury with a steel core.

Queen Amidala listened intently as Qui-Gon made their case. He wore still his Jedi robes, but he had his hair loose in waves around his face, the only mark of his dissent. He spoke calmly, with that same sense of knowing, but his impishness, hidden before, was quietly suppressed by carefully chosen words.

Shmi stared at him, reaching gently out with the Force. In it, she felt Anakin’s ever-blossoming curiosity. From the ex-Jedi, grief.

Qui-Gon’s eyes fell on her briefly before they returned to the queen. When she’d birthed Anakin, alone in that kitchen in that house on Tatooine, she felt a similar grief. Her little boy, made from the Force, his destiny yet unformed—and she’d cried. She’d wept and held him tight, swaddling him in the white of her second dress while he wailed.

Naboo’s senator sat beside his queen. Luxury covered him, his grey hair coiffed and brushed. From where she sat, she smelt heady perfumes. Unlike his queen, he bathed in the opulence, his fore and middle finger resting against his temple, his other hand tapping out a rhythm on his knee.

Anakin continued to take in the room, glancing at each face of the handmaidens that surrounded their queen.

“Who do you look for, boy?” Queen Amidala’s voice was monotone, grave. Every part of her was monotone, Shmi noticed. Anakin jerked his head around, staring at the queen.

“Padme, Your Majesty,” he answered, with characteristic bluntness. Too impatient, always. “She’s one of your handmaidens.”

“I am aware,” Amidala said. A hint of a smile broke through, rapidly vanishing. She flicked her gaze up, finding Qui-Gon. “I’ve heard this case. What do you propose I do, Qui-Gon?”

A silence fell over the room. Naboo’s senator glanced to his queen, but the queen was still. Frozen, almost.

She is frightened, Shmi realised. Frightened perhaps, of how young she was. How old she must appear to others; even her own Senator.

“Give them shelter, Your Majesty,” Qui-Gon said gently. “That’s all I ask. The Jedi could not. Surely the Naboo can?”

“The Naboo are currently under the thumb of the Federation,” the senator said sharply. “We have moved for a vote of no confidence in the current Supreme Chancellor to move things along somewhat…”

Guilt flashed across the queen’s face. Soon, her monotone calm returned.

“But the Federation has power which we do not. They have allies. We cannot be distracted by the plight of refugees, much as it grieves me to say.” The senator’s attention moved to Shmi, his eyes glancing over Anakin. Shmi swallowed a shiver. Her arm wound around Anakin’s shoulders, hugging him tighter to her side.

“Mom!” Anakin whispered, shoving her playfully away as he got to his knees, soaking in the endless stream of traffic beyond the apartment’s windows.

The senator’s ice blue eyes remained on Anakin, watching him with an amused curiosity.

Shmi glanced between them, clearing her throat and plucking at Anakin’s sleeve.

“Ani… sit down. Please,” she whispered. Anakin grumbled but obeyed, snuggling into her side.

“My handmaidens shall take them.”

All eyes returned to the queen. Shmi frowned as the queen looked to her maidens, gesturing. Two stepped forward, curtseying quickly to their charge.

The queen’s attention returned to the refugees sat before her, their future now tilting on the mercy of a queen.

“She and her son shall accompany me back to Naboo.”

“Your Majesty—” began the senator.

“It is clear to me now,” the queen continued. “In fact, I have known this for a long time. Senator Palpatine, the Galactic Senate is your arena. Not mine.”

“But, Your Majesty, you are—”

The queen raised a hand. “They listen not to me. They listen only to others of their rank. If I will be heard, I wish to be heard by the people who have brought this injustice on the people of Naboo. I will confront the Federation and Nute Gunray myself. Captain Panaka—”

A dark-skinned gentleman stepped forward, bowing quickly to his queen.

“I trust you to make the necessary plans. Sabe, Dorme, please, take safe care of my guests.”

The girl, Sabe, bore a striking resemblance to her queen. Anakin glanced up at Shmi as another handmaiden approached and offered out her hand to him. Shmi gave a quick nod, patting the high of his back.

“It is a pity you cannot stay on Coruscant.” Shmi turned her head towards the senator. He leaned back in his chair, smiling. The doors to the room slid closed behind Anakin, already busy asking questions, curious as ever. “I believe your boy was just beginning to get settled.”

“I don’t believe so,” Shmi said after a moment. “It is too cold here for him.”

“Even a savage beast can be forced into acclimatising, Mistress Skywalker.”

“Of course. Senator,” Shmi replied, her voice carefully wrapping around each sound. Turning her back on the senator, she followed the handmaiden with her head held high.

* * *

“You’re lucky you’re short,” Sabe said with a laugh. “It makes shopping quickly for new clothes so much simpler.”

Shmi gave a short smile as she pulled a black high neck sweater over her chest. The fabric was smoother than anything she had encountered.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Sabe was a chatterbox away from the formality of her queen’s meetings. “Dramassian silk is threaded through the cotton. If you stand in the evening lights of Coruscant, it glitters like the stars.”

Guilt struck Shmi. What it must have cost; what lives must have worked to create it. She scratched at her neck, the material itching.

Sabe mellowed then. With a clearing of her throat, she reached down towards the chair where the other purchases she lay. She pressed thick cloth trousers into Shmi’s hands and a thin cotton sleeveless jacket.

“Padme told us you were desert people,” she said, looking away as Shmi climbed into her trousers and drew on the jacket. She bent down, picking up a scarf. Made of a thicker cotton, the green material slipped and slid between her fingers. It was not a shade Shmi was used to. It looked like that of earth, or at least how the traders described it. It was of dirt and soil and things that bloomed. In Sabe’s fingers, it looked alive.

She turned back to face Shmi, hesitant now in her offering. She looked so young in a dress that burned orange. It was the colour of Tatooine’s suns. In a flash, the battle returned to Shmi’s mind. The clashing lightsabers and the darkness spreading. Anger, collared but yearning to break free, _straining_ to break from its chains.

Shmi blinked. Sabe looked at her carefully, the space between her brows furrowed.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Shmi replied. Her fingertips tingled, almost sparking as the image of the fight surged forward. She took the scarf, wrapping it loosely around her neck and shoulders. “Just a memory.”

Less memory, more message. The Force wanted her to listen to something. She prayed to the Maker she soon would.

The doors to the dressing room slid open. Another handmaiden stood in the doorway.

“That will be all, Sabe.”

Shmi’s face lightened with a smile, recognising the gentle lilt. Padme raised her head, squeezing Sabe’s hand as they passed one another.

“The bond between the queen’s handmaidens are strong,” Shmi commented, while the door closed behind Padme. “Stronger I think, that the Queen's bond to them.”

Padme shrugged, watching the traffic of Coruscant past the viewport. “Perhaps. I know we all are prepared to die for her. Protect her. That is our oath.” Padme glanced over her shoulder. Her dark eyes carried curiosity. “Yours is to protect Anakin.”

“I’m his mother, it is what mothers do,” Shmi replied, inching closer to the maiden. Padme’s eyes raised up to the skies of Coruscant, past the skyscrapers.

There was barely a star to be seen.

Shmi looked back to the maiden. They shone brown, with gold and silver reflections of Coruscant. There was a sadness within her, buried within and hidden well. It was only in these small moments that the handmaiden let go. Why should a handmaiden wear such a mask?

Padme jerked her head around as Shmi voiced her question. The corners of her mouth twitched, her lips parting to speak a protest, but fear—a slice of a moment cut away the girl’s mask. Realisation flooded through Shmi.

“Unless the handmaiden…” she said slowly, “is the mask.”

“Amidala is a mask too,” Padme murmured. Her voice was caught now between the soft Padme and the forthright Amidala. “I have to show my people – they have to know that my first wish to look after them. To keep them safe. Only ever that. The Federation stripped all of that away. And I – I feel such hatred for them.”

Slowly, Shmi stepped forward.

It was like hugging Anakin. In the nights, when he cried for a father that didn’t exist. When voices in the Force whispered so harshly in his ear words of destiny that he couldn’t sleep, she hugged him this way. Her arms around his shoulders and her cheek pressed to the top of his head, slowly rocking him left and right until every confusion, every fright left him.

When Padme was done, she drew away. She rubbed at her eyes, freeing them of her tears.

“My apologies,” she said quickly. “It’s not—”

“It’s fear, Your Majesty. And it is felt by everyone. The way to overcome it is to think of the things you love.”

“Like you did on Tatooine.” Shmi frowned, tilting her head. Padme smiled up at her. “I saw you when that creature attacked Qui-Gon. You defeated the creature. How?”

“I used the Force. I do not use it as the Jedi would use it. It’s – it’s an instinct more than a power.” Shmi shrugged. “It is a mother’s love. What else can I say?”

Padme wiped her eyes again. A laugh bubbled out of her. “I was going to get my bodyguards to give you a blaster.”

“I can handle myself.”.

A beep had the two of them looking around. The doors opened and an R2 unit, blue and white, rolled in, followed by Anakin. He wore now a white top, beige trousers and fresh boots. There were no marks of sand, his skin scrubbed of Tatooine’s dirt.

Shmi stroked her fingers through his soft hair as he strolled forward, holding up his hand. In his palm, lay the good luck charm. Finished, polished. Painstakingly looked after.

“It’s a Japor snippet,” Anakin explained, linking hands with Shmi. Padme breathed a laugh, grinning as she drew back her hood, sliding the pendant over her head. Her brown hair was brushed back into a bun, and the chain hung loosely around her neck.

“Thank you, Anakin.” Behind her, the R2 unit beeped again. Shmi hid a smile at its noises. The R2 droid was newly in commission, but its beeps and sounds had the tone of a droid far older. The way it circled around Padme, the Queen of Naboo, reminded her of her mother, ushering her out towards her first work day. Padme hushed the insistent droid, bowing her head towards Shmi and Anakin. “Forgive me – I have to attend to the queen.”

* * *

It took a week for the plans for the journey to Naboo to be finalised. The queen gave Anakin and Shmi use of her private apartments, her orders to her handmaidens being to make sure they were fed, cleaned. Looked after, cared for.

Anakin revelled in the luxury. He followed the handmaidens at their heel as they moved to and fro, collecting and delivering garments, food and drink. He chattered, unconsciously beaming his happiness through the Force. The handmaidens, Shmi sensed, responded to it. They smiled at him and laughed with him.

Senator Palpatine, too, laughed when he visited and Anakin told him a joke he’d overheard in the markets.

“How well Anakin is settling here on Coruscant,” the senator commented, more than once. “Such a shame the Jedi Council refused him.”

It was those times when her blood felt like ice and the shadow of the senator lingered long after his departure, that Shmi took Anakin’s hand and sat with him on the balcony.

The balcony that looked over the levels of Coruscant was nothing like Shmi had ever seen. The floor was yellow stone, and a rainbow colours burst forth from green stems. Potted flowers bloomed and trails of vines wrapped around the balcony rail. The garden was tended by a team of handmaidens, all of whom dug and cut and watered the plants. They worked in companionable silence, nodding once to anyone who might enter in on their work.

And, among the greenery, there was an antique table, made of frosted glass and iron. Antique chairs, forged in the same iron and ornate in their decoration, surrounded it.

It was there she sat with Anakin, smiling and talking with him while they ate juja-cakes and drank berry juice. When she sat alone, she thought she might be that lady of leisure, who, she knew now, was often seen in Coruscant but rarely seen in Mos Espa. If they did appear, gossip would quickly spread. Always the ladies were very fine, heiresses eloping with a roguish space pirate or smuggler. Gossip told of how they put on airs and graces and stuck close to their supposed lovers.

Breathing in the scents of the flowers, Shmi drank. There was more life in one garden than all of Tatooine, and in the last week, she had discovered more cultures in one teacup than she had watching any of the traders coming through Watto’s doors. She drank spiced nysillum tea and revelled in the sweetness. It told her of places she had never been. Of somewhere where the fields were emerald and the stars shone uninterrupted in inky black. Gatalentan tea calmed her. It warmed her blood, bringing to her a sense of tranquillity while her mind filled with snowy mountain tops and shimmering water.

So, surrounded by green, listening to the distant buzz of traffic, she would sit cross-legged on the yellow stone and breathe when the impatience got too much. When the senator’s face crossed her mind; when his manner invaded her mind.

That was how one of the handmaidens, Dorme, found her.

“Thinking again, Shmi?”

Shmi sighed gently, brushing her hair from her face.

“I think perhaps meditating.”

Shmi opened her eyes, blinking at Coruscant’s sun, and turned her head quickly towards the door. She gasped.

“Qui-Gon,” she breathed. The Jedi robes were gone. His hair was loose in waves around his face, and his chin shaved, covered only by a shade of stubble. He wore a cotton shirt, a thick gilet on his shoulders and thick trousers, designed for combat. Wraps covered the tops of his boots, and a brown shawl was wrapped loosely around his neck, pinned in place at his left shoulder by a heavy earth green satchel. At his hip, he carried a blaster.

Shmi nodded to the jacket. “New jacket.”

“New hair,” he said in reply. Shmi’s fingers automatically touched her long dark hair. She had been leaving it down, out of the working bun she’d worn before. Shmi was barely a toddler before she could brush back and pin her mother’s ringlet hair into that same bun.

“It has been too long since we last saw you,” she said. “Dorme, you may leave us.”

“Of course, Mistress Skywalker.”

“What have you been doing while I’ve been gone?” Qui-Gon asked in the following silence. He walked slowly towards the rail, reaching out. Along the rail, dotted among the vines, Ithorian roses bloomed their bright blue. To touch, they had the feeling of velvet. Qui-Gon ran his the tip of his thumb over the petals. A smile hovered in his eyes.

“Waiting, mostly.”

Qui-Gon chuckled at her tone, the smile moving to his mouth. Shmi relaxed, stepping closer. The roses always smelled honey-sweet, tangling with the sour scents of the more exotic plants that grew so thickly in the garden. She continued speaking as Qui-Gon folded his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowed in the face of the sun.

“Queen Amidala intends to face the Federation, once and for all. Padme’s parents have volunteered to shelter Ani and I. It’s more kindness than we deserve.”

“You and Anakin have worked all your lives for kindness.” Qui-Gon sighed, his voice quiet as he lost himself in his thoughts. He slid back into the shadows. “I regret that the council were not prepared to give you that kindness. I think I always will.”

“The Jedi... they were just a chance, that’s all.”

“You told me you gave Anakin… a father. In his dreams. If what I think is correct… Shmi?” She avoided his eyes. She knew what was coming. It was in his eyes, and in the Force; an unbearable, suffocating sense of _hope_. “He’s the Chosen One, isn’t he? He has no father. He was born on a desert planet, into a slave’s life, yet he shows compassion to anyone he meets -- without question, people show their best selves around him. I see it, in how he speaks with the handmaidens. In how Watto looked after him.”

She folded her arms across her chest, turning away. She watched Coruscant’s skyline.

“Stop it,” she murmured. “Stop it. Anakin is not to be a Jedi. Your council--”

“They are no longer my council.”

“The Jedi refused him. We are lucky that Queen Amidala took pity on us; and that we had you to plead our cause. But Anakin is not a Jedi. He’s just a boy. He’s a _child_.”

“He will not be a child forever, Shmi. And what will you do, as he grows? His powers will only grow stronger. His emotions will only grow stronger. He will need to control his emotions if he is to be one with the Force. He must be taught the way of the Jedi.”

“That is your belief, Qui-Gon,” Shmi retorted, her voice tight. She scuffed the toe of her boot against the yellow stone. She felt like a child stamping her foot because her emotions were so tightly wound up within one another, while the rest of the world spun on, their emotions neatly separated, folded away for proper use. “It wasn’t the belief of the Jedi Council -- and it isn’t my belief either. I, for a moment, thought… but seeing Ani, around the handmaidens, all this _life_ … The Jedi gave him a gift when they turned him away. The Queen gave us a gift when she promised us shelter on Naboo.”

Her cheeks flushed pink as silence fell between them. The silence was heavy with the weight of her words. With the weight of Qui-Gon’s reaction. Calm edged with frustration. The frustration which, slowly, became determination.

“Will she keep her promise?”

He had the tone of a merchant off-loading extra cargo.

Shmi narrowed her eyes as she turned her head towards him. Tilting her head, she turned her whole body towards him.

“To ask is to insult the girl who was once your charge,” she said coldly. “Goodbye, Qui-Gon.”

He bowed in return.

“Apologies, Mistress Skywalker.”

Shmi’s features softened.

“Wait. Please.” She let out a hard breath. “I’m sorry, Qui-Gon. It’s just that, well. Anakin and I, we are of the desert. Coruscant is dazzling, yes. But we cannot thrive here.” Not among speeders and transports and politics. Shmi knew that. Here there was treachery. She felt it, deep within the planet’s core.

The handmaidens, Sabe most of all, when they described Naboo, spoke wistfully of green meadows and endless oceans of blue. With the planet taken back by her Queen, Sabe believed, Naboo would grow and bloom when free from the Federation.

Having looked into Padme’s eyes, the steel core bleeding from handmaiden to queen and back, she knew it to be true.

Qui-Gon sighed. Moving back, he sank down onto one of the iron green chairs, running his fingers through his hair.

“Shmi…” Her name was thick on his tongue. “I need your help. I cannot turn to the Council,” he added, in reply to her silent question. “Once a Jedi leaves the Order…”

He trailed off, breathing softly. He lifted his head and stood, approaching her.

“I found the assassin. I know his name.”

“What?”

“I recognised his markings as being the origin of Dathomir. His name is Darth Maul. I encountered him, just a few days ago, on the lower levels of Coruscant. I managed to wound him, but I know where he is due to go next. I have already hired a ship. He’s heading to Naboo, and I intend to face him.”

Shmi slowed her breaths, taking in Qui-Gon’s information. He was sincere, so genuine; it was someone performing a duty on behalf of the Force.

Qui-Gon stepped closer.

“What his purpose I do not know. What I know is this: I carry the way of the Jedi, still. I must protect the galaxy from the darkness. I need an ally, Shmi, to help me defeat him. Will you help me?”

He held out his hand, as he had in the dark of Tatooine.

She knew, holding that pink squalling child on the floor of her cramped kitchen, she would do anything to protect her boy.

Perhaps this was what the Force wished her to hear. To protect one, you must protect others. What use, after all, is protecting one if there is no galaxy left for them to live in?

Just as she had that night, she felt no hesitation when she took his hand.

* * *

Anakin was tucked against her side while they read a holobook together, the night of Coruscant as busy as the day. Yellow and silver light peeked through the heavy slatted blinds while Shmi read aloud. Anakin’s mumbling groans made her pause. She smiled, idly playing with the back of his hair.

“We had a visitor today,” she said. Anakin’s eyes were lidded, his thumb tucked between his lips. “Qui-Gon.”

His eyes opened, but only briefly. Sleep was fast approaching. “Qui-Gon?”

“He had intel to give the Queen,” she said, her tongue turning black but her heart swelling at the brightness in her son’s tired eyes. “He made me promise you he’d see you when he came back from his mission.”

“He’s brave,” Anakin mumbled, his head falling onto his pillow. Shmi smiled, switching off the holobook. She slid off the bed and knelt beside it, pulling the covers over Anakin’s shoulders.

“Yes, Ani. Very brave.”

“Will he visit again?” Anakin said, voice growing soft with sleep.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Another lie-- _don’t worry Ani, he’s promised to_ \--lay ready on her tongue.

The truth came out with a breath.

“I don’t know.”

“I hope he does.”

“Trust in the Force, Ani,” she said, standing. She fiddled with the blinds, covering the room in darkness. The door slid open. Making to leave, Shmi paused, watching Anakin surrender to sleep. “And rest well.”

* * *

"Can you fly?”

 _If I could, I would’ve left Tatooine with Ani long ago,_ Shmi thought, shifting, uncomfortable in the co-pilot’s seat. Qui-Gon glanced at her, his eyes narrowing in that particular way.

She looked away. It was strange. She’d not known him for long. She’d, in all truth, known passing traders longer than she knew Qui-Gon Jinn, yet she knew so quickly the way his eyes crinkled at their edges, and the incline of his brow when he frowned.

“Not at all,” she answered finally.

He flicked switches in front of him.

“It’s on autopilot. It’ll be a few hours until we arrive.” He stood, sliding past her and heading down the short set of steps into the ship’s small hangar. Glancing back at the flood of stars, blurring past the ship’s viewports, Shmi followed him.

She fell into step behind him, scratching the skin of her palm. Stood beside him, she felt calm and secure, and it wasn’t a feeling a slave like her, born on Tatooine with her destiny already formed, grew accustomed to easily. Even the calmness that she felt when around Anakin was temporary. She was always a bit too terrified someone might find him out; figure out his creation, and take him away from her.

“Do you meditate often?”

It was an odd choice for small talk, and Shmi was wrenched from herself towards the conversation Qui-Gon was attempting with a short, surprised laugh.

“I remembered how I found you, in the garden.”

“The balcony,” she corrected. Her tongue felt awkward in her mouth. Clearing her throat, she peeled away from him, sitting at the ship’s seating. It was sparse seating, plastic and hard without a table to sit at. It reminded her of the pod-racing stands on Tatooine. That was all she had to compare anything to.

She blushed. All that life, contained in her belly, gifted to her by the Force, and she’d almost squandered it, hiding it away in the sand. Because it was what she was used to, and she was too scared to do anything else.

She heard the rustle of cloth. Lifting her head, she found Qui-Gon looking at her with a half-smile. Sitting beside her, his hand covered hers. She felt his fingertips squeeze softly the sides of her hand, warmth travelling to cold.

“Breathe.” He spoke so softly, his voice lowered to a whisper. “Close your eyes.”

His touch lingered in her memory.

“Centre yourself. Whatever you feel -- draw it into you. Let it sink into you.”

She obeyed. Fear, apprehension. Determination, longing, loneliness. Security. Violence, peace, decay, death. As she sank deeper, breathed slower, as her smile grew at the corners of her mouth, the emotions reached out.

“I feel…” Her voice was soft, trailing off.

What she felt in her heart tangled with the heartbeats of other creatures and humans far off as if they were barely a hair’s breadth from her. It was to pluck at a loose thread and let it unravel. She could make something new. As distance was nothing, time was too. Shadows flowed in front of her eyes, blurred colours of planets she had never visited; would come to visit.

This was what it was to lose oneself in the Force.

The skill, she saw among shades of purples, blues, earth greens, was to control it.

Reaching out, her fingers outstretched, she shaped the colours; and, before her, they became forms.

A young woman’s eyes filled with delight. She stood among a workshop filled with droid parts, a smell of grease and burnt wires in the air. Around her neck, she wore the Japor snippet.

The space between Shmi’s brows furrowed softly in recognition.

“Padme…”

Her young, babyish face was truly grown into that of a queen. Regality poured from her, but she softened, her features glowing with a smile as she was embraced. The man picked her up as if she were nothing; he spun her around and peppered her face with kisses. Blonde curls, like the ringlets of her mother’s hair, sat just above his shoulders. He wore cotton, marks of grease on his cheek and temple.

He smiled, and Shmi knew her son immediately. Her whole body hitched, her heart soaring at this vision of a happy future.

“Anakin!” she cried, and the vision was gone.

She blinked, thrown into the hangar space. A door opened, and Qui-Gon appeared. His skin was washed, his hair freshly dried.

“How long have I been--?”

“Not long. If you’re tired, a bunker is through there,” he said, gesturing. Shmi nodded, standing. Her limbs felt awkward and gangly as if she were a teenager again. Absentmindedly she rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers threading against the bun at the nape of her neck. She was on a mission. A mission was a duty; duty, since she had been young, was always to be considered work.

With a heavy sigh, she sat on the narrow bunk. The scent of its grey covers was sterile, and its white sheets smelt sweet.

Qui-Gon was just beyond the door, fixing himself a cup of caf in the kitchen quarters. She heard the rattle of old machinery and the bubbling of liquid.

She was surprised when he entered moments later, and pressed the cup into her hands. It was warm and tendrils of steam floated into the air.

“I don’t need it,” she said after a moment, passing it back to him with a smile.

Qui-Gon nodded. “The Jedi Council say a Jedi’s meditations are their own---”

“I saw Anakin. He was happy. Repairing droids, somewhere… somewhere with an ocean. I could hear the waves crashing and he was -- he was so happy.” Shmi smiled at the astonishment in Qui-Gon’s look. It was slight, barely noticeable, but it betrayed a lifetime of teachings.

Shmi reached forward, cupping his cheek. “Thank you.”

Her fingertips curved the edge of his jaw, running over the coarse surface of his beard. His head inclined towards her. She followed his path, her heart pounding in her chest. Familial love, she knew. Romantic love?

They kissed, and it turned out to be as simple as taking a breath.

She felt Qui-Gon’s fingers at the back of her neck, and felt her hair ghost over the plane of her shoulders, down her lower back. Winding her other arm around his shoulder, she softly kissed him a second time.

Qui-Gon drew back then, a pant soft in his breath. He smelt faintly of soap.

“I…”

“Me too,” she said, a whisper shared, finding his eyes again and they laughed before they kissed once more. Destiny was at their arrival, but for now, the journey could be hers.

* * *

The lightness she felt in the Force, and in the arms of a former Jedi, felt like the distant warmth of twin suns once they were long disappeared below the horizon. Instead, what she felt in this forest was the Dark side of the Force. It was everywhere, surrounding them, while the crystal white moonlight of Naboo lit them in shadows.

“ _Jedi._ ” The hiss echoed from above. Shmi jerked around, looking above, but within an instant, she was on the ground, knocked on her back by a hideous, hard blast of the Force. Qui-Gon whirled on his heel. From the folds of his cloak, his lightsaber flew into his hand. It hummed and glowed, sickly green, on his face.

The warrior from Dathomir, Darth Maul, showed sharp teeth. Settling into a fighting stance, he held forth his saber. Shmi gasped as two blades hummed viciously in the night. His eyes glowed yellow, red circling the iris.

It was Qui-Gon who took the first strike. Shmi scrambled to her feet, panting, running from the carnage. Her heart thrumming, she dived behind a tree. The Dark wrestled with the Light, and her hands trembled as she searched her pack. Finding it, she switched on the holorecorder. She felt tentatively in the Force for Qui-Gon. His signature flared, fighting the Dark infecting the forest. Infecting Naboo. Infecting...

Breathing hard, she placed the holorecorder in the earth.

“This message is for Queen Amidala.” Her words stuttered. To sum up what had happened, what had been exchanged in so little time, seemed impossible. A surge of purpose found her. She had to try. “The assassin has been found. I’m on Naboo. We require immediate assistance. Please hurry!”

Sending the message, she jumped to her feet, running across the forest floor, wet earth sinking into her boots, branches scratching her shirt, her skin. Ahead of her, a blur of green and red filled the forest air barely visible through the thick trees. Sparks flamed orange as their sabers felled trees. Maul’s elbow connected with Qui-Gon’s face, making the ex-Jedi stumble. His blade swept through the air, ready to deal Qui-Gon a blow.

“No!” Shmi threw her hand forward. A violet-blue sphere flooded from her palms, surrounding the Dathomir warrior. His yellow eyes widened, a fierce snarl in his lips as he stabbed his blade at the shield, again and again. Shmi panted, her arms outstretched, her footsteps hard on the ground as she got closer, holding the warrior in place.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Tell me who you are! Who sent you?”

The warrior looked at her then. Not with hatred. Not as a hunter. He looked at her as if they were kindred.

“My revenge…” he growled. “My revenge is complete.”

He glanced down. Following his gaze, Shmi saw it. The blade he held against the shield sparked, red against violet. The other red blade hovered inches from his stomach. If he deactivated one, the other would cut straight through.

“No, no -- _no!_ ” Shmi let go, the protection bubble disappearing as the warrior’s body collapsed backwards. The smell of burning flesh filled her nose. She stumbled towards the body and the lifeless yellow eyes. Even in death, they carried hate.

“Shmi…” Qui-Gon’s voice was weak.

She turned to face him. The former Jedi was fallen, laying on his side. His saber lay dormant before him, abandoned in the earth. Above, thunder rolled. It was the coming of a storm. The wind picked up, catching at the tangles of his hair, the strands framing her face.

Qui-Gon cupped his stomach. Every breath he took, weaker than the last.

“Qui-Gon,” she whispered. The smell of cauterisation strengthened as she prised his hands from his wound. A single stab wound of the warrior’s blade. Sinking to her knees, Shmi cupped the old Jedi’s face. Her thumb stroked the hollow of his cheek.

In the darkness, she saw a final spark in his eyes. It spoke of content, and calm.

“My mission…” he breathed, “is complete.”

* * *

"How come I haven’t heard this story before?”

Shmi smiled as fragrant things cooked in a pot. Alderaanian stew was a favourite of her granddaughter’s.

“My story isn’t that important,” she said, returning to Leia’s side. The girl was tracing circles into the wood with her thumb. She kissed Leia’s hair instead and stroked the high of her back.

“Yes it _is_ ,” Leia replied instantly. She was 15, and already stubborn. Her fingers curled into a fist as she turned towards her grandmother. “You fought Maul!”

“And it changed nothing. It was too late.” Shmi paused. “Palpatine had already made political moves neither your mother nor the Jedi, could outmanoeuvre. His power was… too great. You understand, don’t you?”

Leia glanced at the meagre surroundings of the tent. The tarpaulin behind them flapped in the wind, displaying Crait’s crystal white surface that bled red.

Leia’s lips thinned, her eyes thoughtful.

“I’ll be a Senator then,” she declared. “Make your story known.”

“What’s this about senators?” Entering, Padme pushed past the thick tarpaulin, heading over to the cooking equipment, scraps as it was. All of it rattled and sparked, but Ani had given the equipment new life many times over.

Padme wore a thick white cowl over her shoulders, her hair brushed back into a bun. She wore goggles on her head, and she tugged off her hard leather gloves.

“I’m going to be one,” Leia said.

“I think she shouldn’t. Galactic politics are too dangerous for teenagers.”

Leia scoffed, harder when she saw her grandmother's teasing smile.

“I admire her ambition.” Padme grinned, kissing the top of her daughter’s head and went back to making caf.

“I have been meaning to ask, grandmama.”

“Hm?”

“What exactly happened with Qui-Gon Jinn on the way to Naboo? You skipped over that part.”

Shmi eyed her granddaughter.

“Sometimes, you are too much like your father.”

The galaxy was in turmoil, and every day was a fight. 

But today, when her granddaughter’s laughter echoed, and they teased and bickered like a true family, one that didn't know war, she knew the battle was worth it. 

The pain she held deep in her heart, (for might’ve been, for what could’ve been), was worth it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [by the ocean's edge (i am afraid, i am afraid) - Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14365551) by [kmary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmary/pseuds/kmary)




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